


more than you could ever know

by appletaile



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Matchmaker Penelope Bunce, except actually sixth form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8978467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appletaile/pseuds/appletaile
Summary: Normal AU. Simon joins the school choir for Christmas, and Baz Pitch is also in attendance.





	

i.

“ _Pennyyy,_ ” Simon whined. “Do I have to? I’ll probably be, like, the only boy there. And I’m crap at singing.”

Penelope Bunce was, presently, continuing to drag Simon by his coat sleeve through the school corridor towards the room where the Watford choir rehearsed. She didn’t even seem to _hear_ his protests. It was fair to say that Simon was feeling somewhat put out.

“You know I have loads of homework,” he said in a last desperate attempt, thinking mournfully of his geography essay due in tomorrow.

Finally, Penny released Simon’s arm just outside the door. She turned to him and said severely, “You can do it this evening. And you shouldn’t have left it until the last night anyway.” She paused for a second. “It’ll be _fun._ Maybe you can make new friends. I met my first girlfriend at the Watford Chorus, you know.”

Simon’s eyebrows shot up. “You met Philippa here? Does she even like singing?”

“Well, obviously. At the time.”

“That was probably why it didn’t work out.”

“Excuse you,” Penelope said, and then frowned slightly. “Plus, it’s probably not the best idea to insult choirs when you’re talking to a member of one and standing right outside the rehearsal room.”

“I didn’t mean _you,_ ” Simon said, grudgingly. He cast an anxious glance through the door window at the group of people congregating. “It’s just that lots of singing people _are_ kind of…you know.”

“It’s Christmas,” Penelope assured him. “We’re not singing anything too difficult. And you know Miss Possibelf won’t let anyone say stuff to you.”

Simon’s protests were obviously very much in vain. Once Penny had decided on something, it took some serious persuasion skills to get her to change her mind. And he wasn’t really in possession of those.

Simon groaned. “Fine,” he said, and pushed the door open.

The room did not become any less intimidating after this brave move, as Simon had hoped it would; in fact, the barrage of conversation made the nerves in his stomach tighten even further as the noise washed over him.

There was only one other boy. Simon felt a sinking feeling in his chest as he saw Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch standing over the other side of the room, surrounded by empty chairs.

He turned backwards to Penelope, and whispered far too desperately for his liking, “Remind me again why Micah can’t come support me in this venture?”

Penelope gave him The Look. She clearly knew he was bullshitting at this point. Still, it was worth a try.

“He’s doing the maths tutoring,” Penelope said at a normal volume. “Remember?”

Simon groaned again, although internally this time. Even he knew that he had to slightly keep up appearances at this point. Stupid Micah and his stupid volunteering. “Why am I here,” he muttered as he trudged over to the lower voices section.

Baz looked up from his sheet of music as Simon did so, and smirked. “Ah, I’m not alone,” he said.

Simon just stared at him for a second, then pulled the sleeves of his jumper down and sat two empty seats away. He picked up the sheet of music which had been laid out on his chair and pretended to study it. He was failing miserably.

_Baz Pitch. Oh fucking joy._

Simon really did not need to spend any more time than he already had with that guy. The universe was evidently, evidently punishing him, because Baz was an idiot who had shown absolutely zero interest in music before in his life.

Perhaps Simon didn’t know him all that well, he admitted to himself, but still. _Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch? At the Watford Chorus?_ He could be cultivating some kind of posh choir boy thing. That would work.

“Right, everyone,” Miss Possibelf said as she walked round from the back of the room. Her face crinkled into a smile when she saw Simon. “Are you excited for some festive music?”

The group around him murmured with varying opinions. Simon looked down at his sheet of music, seeing it properly for the first time. _In the Bleak Midwinter._ Huh. He quite liked that one.

“Okay, let’s get going,” Miss Possibelf said, and the rehearsal began.

Despite all his moaning, Simon actually _did_ rather enjoy singing in the Watford Chorus. He wasn’t anything special, but he liked Christmas music and he joined every year for the festive season. There was something nice about being part of a group creating music.

He did wish that it wasn’t just him and Baz on the low parts, though. The worst of it was that even from two chairs away, Simon could _hear_ him singing and –- Jesus, he was _good._ His voice was strong and expressive, and he never seemed to lose his place. It was just unfair. Simon felt a little self-conscious about his own general muddling through the songs based on his previous knowledge of them.

Simon didn’t say any of this to Baz, obviously. They didn’t exchange a single word. (It would have been pretty awkward because Simon would have had to speak way too loudly since he’d sat so far away.) (This was what he told himself.) Baz just kept being his usual good-at-everything self and brushing Simon’s nerves all up the wrong way without once turning towards him.

They didn’t even speak as the choir was packing up the chairs. For a second, Baz stood up looked at him, and Simon thought he was going to say something – but then he seemed to think better of it turned away, his expression unreadable.

Simon made up for this by picking the empty seats at the back of the bus and complaining to Penny all the way home.

“It was alright, though, wasn’t it?” Penny said. “Baz wasn’t doing anything especially arsehole-ish.”

“He _was._ He was breathing,” Simon grumbled.

“Oh, wow, he should just stop breathing then,” Penny said, raising one eyebrow at him. “What a heart-warming idea.”

“What an idiot,” Simon muttered.

“I don’t really see why you hate him so much. He just seems like a kind of –- posh arrogant guy.”

Simon stared at Penny. Perhaps he had been exaggerating slightly over the last 20 minutes, but Baz was not just _some posh arrogant guy_.

“He’s _awful,_ ” Simon said. “He thinks that he’s above the rest of us because he went to some private boarding school before, even though we’re at the same bloody school now, and he always makes fun of people who don’t do as well as him, and then he just _sits there_ not helping anyone or doing anything about it and looking like a stupid – model, or something.”

After a momentary pause to let that sink in, Penny just said, “O- _kay_ , then.”

Simon huffed. He felt a faint flush creeping into his face and tried to ignore it. “It’s true. Latin with him last year was fucking awful.”

“Um, remind me again why you took Latin GCSE even though you absolutely hated it and your friends tried very hard to persuade you otherwise?”

“Penny,” Simon said sincerely, “I don’t even know. I was an idiot. Those were the worst two years of my life so far.”

“I thought that honour went to this afternoon,” Penny said. The _bus stopping_ bell shrieked a couple of times as the two children in front of them stood up.

“Yeah, well. I guess it could have been worse,” he conceded.

Penny just smiled.

ii.

Baz’s Tuesday afternoons could not be any worse.

He hadn’t _intended_ for them to be a slow, masochistic form of self-torture. He’d been attending the Watford Chorus since the spring of last year. It would be weird for him to leave just as he had his final chance to take part in the Christmas music and frenzied numbers of concerts. 

The presence of Simon Snow was almost making him reconsider this, though. From the moment Penelope Bunce had dragged Snow and his perfect bronze hair in the door behind her, Baz had known he was pretty fucked.

Baz’s crush on Snow was not exactly an understated affair.

It had begun – fuck, he didn’t even _know_ when it had begun, but suddenly they were sitting next to each other in Latin and their shoulders brushed every time they had to write something and Baz would feel like his entire body was made of electricity. And then Snow was dating Agatha, which was possibly even more painful, and this time Baz’s chest imploded and crumpled in on itself when he saw them together. (Even if it was just _talking._ )

And then there was prom. Baz didn’t like to think about prom. It hurt him in an entirely different kind of way -– a slow, aching pain that lodged between his ribs and stayed there.

That year had not been a good year.

Baz didn’t have any lessons with Snow now. He didn’t see him except for rare occasions when their PE lessons or study periods in the library coincided.

Of fucking _course_ Penelope Bunce had to come and mess it all up, knowing perfectly well that Baz was here. She had brought Snow along anyway just to see Baz humiliate himself, voluntarily, week on week, as Snow looked on with his ridiculous freckle-dusted face.

It sufficed to say that the second rehearsal with Snow had not been any better than the first. Once again he sat a good distance from Baz, and once again there was a frosty silence between them which made Baz want to smash something. Once again the sound of Snow’s voice singing shitty Christmas music did terrible things to his stomach.

Baz started to notice Snow again in the corridors, around the school, and that was almost the worst part because it only twisted the knife in further. He needed to get a fucking grip. He thought he’d gotten _over_ this.

(Baz had never really gotten over Simon.)

On their third rehearsal, Miss Possibelf made Baz stand up in front of the whole choir including Snow and sing a _pop_ song, on his _own,_ and in that moment he thought he might actually die from the indignity of it all.

“Go on,” Miss Possibelf said, sitting down at the piano. “I’ll play along. And I’ll be choosing someone else random next week, so don’t you say anything,” she warned the rest of the choir. 

Baz stared. Very slowly, he stood up. “Fine,” he said in a flat voice.

The piano tinkled its irritating introduction; Baz’s nerves jangled along with it. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous, because he knew he was a good singer and he knew that he could do this perfectly fine -– or _well,_ even. He put it down to the combination of frankly awful pop music he hadn’t realised he knew and the constant, painful presence of Snow setting him on edge.

He took a deep breath, and silently cursed every moment in his life which had led up to this one.

“ _I don’t want a lot for Christmas,_ ” he began. _“There is just one thing I need…”_

Although he felt uncomfortably honest and bared in front of these people, he kept going until the start of the actual verse when Miss Possibelf stopped playing the piano. He looked at her, blinking.

“That was great,” she said, smiling at him. “I know it’s difficult when you’re put on the spot, and I’m very impressed.”

Baz felt his face burning as he stood down. He was a little dizzy. Hopefully he’d never have to do that again now. He glanced to his right and – there was Snow, looking at him as though he’d never seen him before. Baz looked away quickly before their eyes could meet.

“And that’s going to be one of our new songs for the concert in December,” Miss Possibelf was saying. “It’s one of my favourites, so I’m very excited.”

Baz did not like this deviation from traditional carols. He didn’t like _any_ deviation which involved pop music or, good God, standing up in front of the whole choir to sing an impromptu solo. But he soldiered on through the rest of the rehearsal, knowing that he’d probably be replaying this hour that evening like the miserable person he was.

Just as he was about to pick up his chair and carry it over to the piles, he saw a blurred figure in his peripheral vision.

“Hey, er,” the person said, and Baz looked up.

“I just wanted to, um…” Snow continued, gaze uncomfortably focused on Baz. He bit his lip and Baz tried very hard not to track the movement. “Your solo was really good,” Snow said, and gave a crooked smile. “I’d never be able to do something like that.”

Baz frowned. “Of course you would,” he said, without really thinking about what he was saying. God, that an idiot. He shut his eyes, briefly, for strength. “I mean…thanks.”

For a moment neither Baz nor Snow moved, Baz half standing up and hand on the chair ready to lift it up.

They stared at each other.

Snow swallowed, turning away first. “Uh, cool,” he said. “I’ll see you next week.” He turned around and rushed away towards the waiting figure of Penelope Bunce at the door.

“See you next week,” Baz echoed belatedly.

He shook his head, and dragged the chair over to the pile in the corner of the room. He had no fucking clue what _that_ was all about.

iii.

Simon wasn’t really sure what he was doing, except one moment he was hating Baz and the other – they were nodding at each other in the corridor. They were no longer sitting two chairs away at choir rehearsal. They were exchanging greetings and small talk as they waited for the other pupils to file in. (Only when Simon managed to get there early enough.)

“I’m proud of you,” Penny told him one lunchtime as she unwrapped her sandwich. “It’s almost like you’ve learnt to overcome your differences.”

Simon shook his head. He looked down at his school canteen curry. “I’m not… I was just being polite. Or not-rude.”

“You _were_ being pretty rude before,” Penny agreed.

“Well -– it’s Baz,” Simon said uncomfortably.

Penny looked at him for a long moment. “Simon,” she said suddenly, “do you remember Year 11 prom?”

Simon squinted, wondering if he’d missed something. “What?”

“Prom. Anything? Any recollection?”

He had basically no idea what was happening, but he trusted Penny, so he duly dragged out the hazy memories of two years ago. “There was…dancing?” he hazarded. “I think it was in the sports hall?”

For a long moment, Penny examined him, and then she took a large bite of her sandwich. “Okay, thought so.”

“What…I don’t think I even want to know.”

“You really don’t,” Penny told him.

iv.

Baz was even more confused than ever, but it was a slightly more pleasant kind of confused. Now when Snow smiled at him in the corridor, well, in the long run it would be terrible for him, but at that moment it felt like walking into warm sunlight after months of winter.

One Tuesday lunch before rehearsal, Snow came up to him in the library and asked if he could borrow some of Baz’s sheet music to photocopy.

“I’ve, um, lost mine,” he said a little sheepishly. “Sorry. And I need to practice, but other parts don’t have tenor on them.”

Baz looked up from his laptop and slipped one earphone out of his ear. “Do try not to lose any more sheet music, Snow,” he said. But he was already pulling his bag out from under the table, because it was Snow and what else could he do?

 “Thanks,” Snow said, taking the music. He smiled at Baz, sunny and easy as though it wasn’t doing anything to Baz at all. He didn’t move from standing at the table.

“Anything else you need from me, dear customer?” Baz asked, his heart constricting.

Simon looked down at the music. “No, I… I’d better go and photocopy this.”

Baz watched him go, and then he watched him come back 5 minutes later, looking flustered, with even more sheets ready to spill out of his hands and onto the floor.

“Thanks,” Snow said as he handed the music back. “I really appreciate it.” He glanced behind Baz, and Baz turned around to follow his gaze to the clock.

“It’s almost lunch,” Snow said, not looking quite at Baz but at the space on the table in front of him.

“I’m aware,” Baz said dryly. His brain was shrieking _FUCK_ and _WHERE IS THIS CONVERSATION GOING?_ and _WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?_  

“I see… I sometimes see you sitting alone. You can come and sit with me and Penny, if you want.” Snow put his hands into his trouser pockets. “I mean, I don’t know… Just. If you ever need to --”

“Thank you,” Baz said, although it pained him somewhat; he just needed to save Snow from his endless capacity to ramble. He didn’t want Snow thinking he was some kind of – pity case, or something. That wasn’t something he needed right now. He swallowed. “That would be nice.”

Snow looked up at him as though he was surprised to see Baz accept. (And he probably _was._ ) Baz hated how happy and young those words had made Snow – it was just. This was all too fucking much for him.

“Cool,” Snow said. His face crinkled into another smile. (God, that boy smiled a lot. It was like he was trying to kill Baz or something.) “I’ll see you around.”

Baz felt himself nodding. He shut his laptop, packed away his stuff, and then somehow ended up 10 minutes later eating with Snow and Bunce, talking about school and life as though they were _friends._ It was weird, and he still didn’t understand quite how it had happened, but he almost liked it.

He tried hard not to think about prom: fingertips brushing, dancing in the corner, Snow’s face close enough for Baz to pick out his freckles. What had happened, after.  He didn’t know what it all meant anymore.

v.

“Do you think I need to buy Baz a present?” Simon mumbled into the shoulder of Penny’s blazer as the sounds of the bus washed around him.

“A Christmas present? I mean, if you want to,” Penny said, although she didn’t sound very convinced.

Simon hauled himself up, with much effort, and rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t know. It’s not like I have anyone else to buy for, except for you.”

“Agatha?”

“I found her a virtual card. It’s really nice and animated and stuff.” Silence. “What? I’m not going to send something all the way to California. Shipping would be more expensive than the actual gift.”

“Well, like I said, you can if you want to,” Penny said.

Simon scrunched his face up in confusion. It was still two weeks until school broke up, and he already felt tired when he woke up each morning. “I don’t understand why you’re being so…” he waved his hands around. “Lukewarm. I thought you wanted us to be friends.”

“I do,” Penny said. She looked across at Simon, her brows knitted together. “Just…be careful, okay? Don’t lead him on.”

Simon figured he must be really sleep-deprived, because nothing was making any sense. “I don’t –- I don’t understand, Penny. Never mind. I’ll find him a present, okay? Some socks or something.”

“You don’t even know his shoe size,” Penny said, but Simon was already leaning into her again and shutting his eyes.

vi.

“So, are you doing anything over the holidays?” Baz asked, leaning back against the door of the library as Snow tried and failed to stuff his books into his crammed rucksack. “Seeing family?”

Snow paused in what he was doing and glanced up at Baz. “Is this supposed to be a joke?”

Baz frowned. “No. Why?”

Appearing to abandon his rucksack to its unzipped fate, Snow slung his bag across one shoulder and walked past Baz to the door. He swallowed. “You know my parents are dead, right?” he said. He was concentrating very hard on unlocking the door, but his fingers kept slipping.

“Here,” Baz said, and reached over to twist the lock himself. He cleared his throat. “And, no, evidently I didn’t know that.”

“I always thought you knew,” Snow said, sounding puzzled. His hands were tugging on his rucksack straps as they walked, and despite the tone of the conversation it was categorically adorable. “You were always…asking me stuff about my parents. I thought you were just being cruel.”

“Or…I just didn’t know.” Baz’s throat felt tight and uncomfortable. _All those times…_

Snow shook his head. “Well, anyway. I used go over to Agatha’s, but she moved to the USA last year, so I guess I’ll just be staying with Ebb. Watching TV and stuff. She’s my guardian,” he added.

Baz looked up at the ominously grey clouds, trying to gauge the tone of this statement. “Would you rather be somewhere else?” he asked carefully.

“Ebb’s wonderful,” Snow said. “I mean, I guess I’d rather be with my actual parents, but it wasn’t like I knew them and they’re dead now, so. This is my next best option.”

“Christmas at my house is awful,” Baz said. “We have about 20 cousins and second cousins and great aunts come to visit us, except they’re only there because they want some money from my parents. Who also are not particularly pleased with me at the present, what with the whole me being gay.”

“Oh,” Snow said.

Saying all this information out in the open, was no something that Baz was used to. It felt unfair after all that Snow had said, and anyway, the words just kept on spilling from his mouth no matter what his brain said. In some ways it was freeing.

He tried for a smile. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that a family Christmas doesn’t necessarily mean a good Christmas.”

They paused just as they reached the door to the dining hall. Snow’s gaze flicked towards Baz. “Thanks,” he said softly.

vii.

“Everyone here?” Miss Possibelf called from the front of the group gathered by the school gates.  “Everyone got their music?”

“That’s for you, Snow,” Baz said.

Simon scowled. “I have my music,” he said.

“Only because you photocopied it from me.”

Simon’s scowl deepened, but he couldn’t keep a warm glow from descending over him. He wasn’t sure he’d felt this feeling of contentment and belonging in quite this way before. It just kept appearing, and it was -– it was _nice._ It was like he could finally understand all those mushy Christmas songs.

“Come on, you two,” Penny said, turning around mid-conversation. “Please, _please_ , don’t get left behind on the 10-minute walk to the square.”

“I would never,” Baz said.

“Oh, really,” Simon muttered.

Penny looked between them, and narrowed her eyes slightly. It was such a classic Penny expression, but it was utterly incongruous with her light-up Christmas tree hat. Simon had to repress a snort.

“Alright, then,” she said, sounding unconvinced, and turned back to her conversation with – well, Simon didn’t actually know. Some girl in her Chemistry class. The snatches of words he could hear were pretty incomprehensible to him.

When they arrived at the square, it was already starting to get a little dark. Simon usually hated the early evenings that winter brought with it, but today it meant the twinkling lights all around the square were only more beautiful. It was the penultimate day of term, and the 18th of December, and everyone was feeling happy to be close to the holidays.

A small crowd was already gathering. It was mostly the family of choir singers, he suspected, although a few Watford locals who were regulars at the choir concerts.

Miss Possibelf went over to the sound system to put in the backing CD, and gave everyone a thumbs up as they organised themselves into rows. Simon took a deep breath. He pulled out his music folder, glancing over at Baz.

Baz didn’t smile at him, but his eyes softened and he nodded slightly at Simon. His face was slightly flushed from the cold. A lock of dark hair had fallen loose onto his face.

Miss Possibelf lifted her hands for the song to begin. Simon had to drag his eyes away.

The chords began for the first song; Simon loved _Ding Dong Merrily on High_ , but he barely heard them. Alongside the comfortable feelings there was something else, something worrying and a little scary, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. He pushed the entire mess to the side. This afternoon was for singing. Feelings were for later.

Despite the nerves thrumming through Simon’s body, he managed to mostly keep his line through all their carols and other weird wintery choir songs. He even managed a smile as the introduction for the final piece began – a tiny, tinkling glimmer on the piano that made all the audience nod knowingly.

The soloist, a girl named Trixie with hair even brighter than Penny’s if it was possible, stepped forwards. She was a good singer. She was _great._ Better than Simon could ever hope to be.

A small part of him thought Baz had been better.

 _“All I want for Christmas…is you,”_ Trixie finished.

The rest of the accompaniment kicked in, and so did the choir, and a couple of small kids from the audience were jumping around in the front. Even some of the actual choir members were bobbing along slightly.

 _“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need,”_ they sang, and even though Baz and Simon were only singing, _“And I…”_ Simon felt a grin emerging across his face entirely without his permission.

When they came in with their first actual words -– “ _I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know”_ –- Simon risked a glance at Baz, and Baz flicked his eyes towards him, and Simon felt an unexpected hope creep into him.

He looked back to Miss Possibelf, but his arm kept brushing Baz’s; he couldn’t stop his smile growing wider. He wanted to crawl inside this moment and live in it forever. (He wondered if Penny knew. He thought she probably did.)

 _“Youuuu,”_ the choir finished. _Yes,_ Simon thought.

When Miss Possibelf brought them off, there was a moment of silence before everyone clapped and Simon broke out into breathless, relieved laughter. Without really knowing what he was doing, he reached for Baz’s hand. He kept it there until Miss Possibelf released them from their positions.

They didn’t stop to talk to the rest of the choir. Everything was a little blurry around the edges.

They walked a little way away from the choir, breath curling into white mist in front of him, and when Simon thought they were far enough away he stopped and looked down at their hands. Baz’s fingers were tan against Simon’s own.

“Baz…” he said quietly.

Baz’s free hand drifted and came to rest on Simon’s neck. It was a little cold, but Simon couldn’t have cared less. The lights in the square were bright and starry behind Baz’s head as Simon looked up at him.

They were standing so close that Simon could see the brown of Baz’s eyes, wide and a little wild.

“Snow,” Baz said, sounding choked.

Simon shook his head. He wanted to –- he wanted Baz to stop calling him that. He wanted to get rid of all the anxiety in Baz’s voice. He leaned in closer.

“Simon,” Baz breathed. His gaze flitted to Simon’s mouth, and that was all Simon needed.

Baz’s mouth was soft, and warm -- warmer than Simon was expecting. His hand was light on Simon’s neck. The kiss felt so very inevitable and _right_ that when they pulled apart Simon couldn’t quiet register for a moment why they might even want to do that in the first place.

“I don’t understand,” Baz said wretchedly, his hand still on Simon’s neck.

“We kissed,” Simon told him, with more bravery than he felt, “and if it’s okay, I’d quite like to do it again.”

“What about prom?” Baz asked.

“Prom?”

Burying his head in Simon’s shoulder, Baz gave a great sigh. “I kissed you,” he said into Simon’s coat. “You didn’t like it, and you said something about Agatha, and then you hated me for the rest of the year. Remember that?”

“No,” Simon said honestly.

Baz lifted his head. “What?”

“I don’t… I mean, I was wondering why Penny was asking me about prom. I definitely don’t remember by now. I must have been pretty drunk,” he admitted. The pieces were all starting to fit together now. Baz didn’t seem like he was going, to run away, at least.

“Why _did_ you start being so bloody rude to me, then?”

Simon shrugged. “Dunno. I might have remembered some of the stuff and thought you were making fun of the bisexual thing. You were an annoying bugger back then.”

“And now?”

Simon laughed. “You’re still an annoying bugger. But it’s okay, I like it.”

“Good to hear,” Baz said, attempting a shaky laugh.

The conversations were continuing around them, Simon realised. Penny was probably cheering somewhere.

He also realised that he didn’t particularly care. He pulled Baz in, and they kissed again, and Simon didn’t think he could wish for anything more.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Carry On Secret Santa 2016. I'm not allowed to tag you yet, secret santa, but I do hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Some notes, because I like notes:  
> \- The title is from the song All I Want For Christmas is You by Mariah Carey. There is nothing I like better than a pretentious lyric title and pretentious roman numerals.  
> \- The sixth form in this is very fictionalised, but it is loosely based off the sixth form at my own school. Apologies for any inaccuracies. The Watford gang were intended to be in their final year of school, Year 13.  
> \- Ebb alive and taking care of Simon, am I right?
> 
> If you ever want to chat, Carry On-related or otherwise, you can find me on my Carry On tumblr (welllbelove) or my personal/other stuff tumblr (efferverveseance). I hope you liked this, and happy holidays!


End file.
